Twilight, Forgiveness
by epicocolypse
Summary: Pre-Twilight. Bella never moved to Forks to live with her dad. She had stayed with her mother until now. She ends up in Forks for a different reason, and of course, Edward has something to do with it. Another what-if twist on Twilight. Please review.


Tears spilled in hot rivulets down the pink, severely chapped skin of my cheeks. I stood at a tall podeum, at a loss for words as I recalled my journey here, and the phonecall I couldn't bring myself to come to terms with. Massive bouques of flowers surrounded me and brushed my shaking elbows as I clutched the edge of the podeum with angry ferver. My mother appeared at my side, and without looking I knew she wore an expression similar to the one plastered on my tear-sticky face, of incredible longing, regret, and over-all melancholy, but I had no appreciation for her pain when overcome by my own.

Mom placed her tiny cupped hands over my white knuckled fists on the podeum and tried to very gently, without genuine effort, peel my hands from the cold marble. "Bella honey, you don't have to..." She whispered softly into my cleanly styled hair, not bothering to finish the statement. She must've been only trying to coax me from my reverie, because I suddenly felt the sticky wetness on my neck and the matted cloth on my breasts. I blinked and new tears tumbled over my lower lids, crashing directly onto the podeum undernieth with a delicate patter.

I looked around the room slighty beneath me from where I stood, at the faces in the room brought into fresh clarity at that moment. Everyone around me appeared to have been frozen in place for some time, silent tears of their own running in tiny rivers into the expensive blouses they all wore. Everyone here looked as though they were sympathizing in their own individual ways with my wordless speech. All I had done was stand here and cry. How long had I been standing here anyway? Had I even said a single word? I was surprised then at how long it had taken my mother to come to my rescue. I figured though, she must've been just as emotional, and my surprise melted away.

How could I be so selfish? How much had I hurt my poor mom with my silence? I had lost control of myself as soon as I had stepped up here and looked out into the small crowd of familiar, but unfamiliarly destraught faces in front of me, and now I had only caused everyone here even more pain. I was reminding everyone of how much his daughter was mourning his unexpected loss. His disappearence. His later discovery...

Fresh tears spilled onto the dried pathways left on my red and painfully taught cheekbones. In the haze of my distracted remembrance I could just barely make out the tear-blurred face of Billy Black, my late father's dearest friend for so long. His face was lifted into a twisting grimace and his eyes were rippling and quivering pools of deep midnight. The rumpled folds of his eyelids were bruised and painful looking from long nights of weeping. I knew exactly what he was going through.

A choked sob wrenched itself forcefully from my closed and swollen throat at the thought, and several things changed simultaneously. First; the small gathering was released from their frozen state and several wiped their faces timidly, embaressed that the moment had drawn them in as well. A few others doubled over into their own laps with their faces in their hands and shook spasmically with harsh sobs. Billy was one of the few, as well as Harry Clearwater, another dear friend of my dad's. If my dad had only known how well he was loved... I hoped desparatelty that he did.

Second; My mom wrapped her arms around me and turned me into her body with a forceful jerk. My head bobbed and settled into the crook of her neck with a wet slap, and I futiley tried to patch up my childish lack of control over my emotions, for everyone's sake. I could feel another pair of arms come around the both of us in a large, comforting embrace, and could tell from the distinct cologne that it was Phil, My mom's second husband. I thought immediately how inappropriate it was to smell attractive at a funural. My mom must've thought the same thing because she shook him off very carefully and the next thing that called my attention was the muggy night air of dad's favorite little town-- Forks, Washington. The town was so colored in my memories from childhood. I recognised the strong smell of pine and the familiar feel of mist and fog in the air all around me.

How had we gotten outside so quickly? But then, it was probably just my complete absense of awareness at the moment that prevented me from noticing even the movement of my own feet anymore.

I lifted my heavy head from my mom's shoulder and looked around. We were just outside the side doors of the small church, standing in a deliberate little courtyard with stone benches scattered around for moments like this, and people like me. How thoughtful.

My eyes registered quickly that there was one other figure in the courtyard, furthest from me, hunched over in a crumpled heap on one of the large benches, not bothering to look in our direction. The person was mostly hidden from view by the huge, sad looking old willow, so appropriate for the atmosphere, that swayed gently in the nearly non-existant breeze, so I let my eyes wander away without taking any further notice. My mother let her arms drop from me numbly and she walked with a tense and purposeful stride back to the door that led straight to the podeum.

"I'll be back out here sweetheart, just wait here for a minute and feel better. I know you need a break Bella honey, it's been a long day."

I heard a quiet rustle from the direction the other person had been in. Without waiting for my reply, my mom slipped stiffly through the doors and left me standing awkwardly in the courtyard without a backward glance.

If it hadn't been such an agonizingly emotional night I might've been a little frustrated by the behavior, but as it was, I plopped tiredly onto the bench I was nearest to.

I wrapped my heavy arms around my torso and brought my knees nearer by putting my muddy shoes impolitely on the clean stone. Why didn't I care? I grunted hoarsely at the question in my head and leaned sideways into the cool bench. I knew why I didn't care. I was astounded I had even the room for such stupid questions in my maddeningly cluttered brain. There was so much ruin to busy myself wtih distressing over. Another rustle a little nearer this time brought me back to the courtyard. I didn't noticably respond to the tiny surprise other than to cock my head ever so minutely in that direction and shift my eyes forward until they halted with staggering abruptness on the beautiful figure sitting a foot across from me on the same bench. How had he gotten so close without my noticing? A tiny voice in my mind snorted unintelligently at the other stupid question. It had to have been a he, but I had only ever seen women blessed in small quantities with miniscule shreds of the beauty this boy possessed. His posture was gracefully shy, drawn in on himself on the bench, with his hands placed delicately between us in front of him. The sitting position looked almost like he was asking me an intense question if you were looking on from a ways away. My eyes lingered momentarily on his elegant hands encased in what looked like to me was thin white cloud. His skin was a pale cream, and so perfectly smooth. My eyes swayed exhaustedly up to his face. The sight sent a shock of electricity through my already aching chest. My stomach mustles spasmed unwelcomely and tightened. My mid-section was already sore from hours and hours of uncontrolled grief and if I hadn't been so taken aback by the sight of the angelic face staring at me, I might've winced. His face was so devastatingly beautiful that my eyes stung with fresh tears, almost like looking into the sun. I cried at everything lately, how embaressing. I watched him as he took in the sight of my watering eyes with sympathy and mild disdain. He searched my face for what seemed like hours to me but was only just seconds, and I stared back at him, unabashed, in return. We sat in silence, only looking at eachother for that small but heavenly moment. Then my eyes dropped to his perfect mouth when it opened to inhale a tight breath, as if he were going to speak. I waited patiently, shifting my eyes again to look into his. They were a surprising yellow-gold color. Bright, almost glowing, in the foggy night air, and flecked very minutely with thin ribbons of deep crimson. It would've been unnoticable unless your eyes were filled with tears that were serving nicely as magnifying glasses. I blinked as a gentle breeze pushed against my eyes uncomfortably and the tears spilled slowly down my salt-crusted face.

My eyes focused quickly on him again, eager to drink in the sight of him, then I noticed he was leaning a few centimeters closer, staring intently into my tear-wetted face. Was I really that funny looking? I figured for a moment that I must've looked like a bright and shiney cherry tomato. The thought made my lips twitch, as if they would have lifted upward if my face hadn't been so heavily drawn downward from depression. He noticed, his eyes narrowing at the tiny flex of my mouth and then returning upward sharply to scrutinize my facial expressions again. His lips parted and his jaw bobbed lightly to the rhythm of a beautiful symphany that was playing. Was he singing? The scent of his wonderful breath caressed my face and I inhaled greedily. It took me a second or two to realise that in-fact, he was speaking, and I searched my ears for the words he'd spoken, knowing they would have heard.

"Your name is Bella? Are you Isabelle...Swan?" The last word broke slightly, and was with a hint of whisper. His soft, low, windchime voice sounded pained, and hesitant. It seemed insanely wrong that such a symbol of glorious beauty should be tainted with something like pain, or depression, or guilt. I prayed to god then, that this unearthly entity, that this stranger, would suffer no-more. That whoever held him responsible for a wrong would just forgive him, so that he would smile again, like any angel should. "Huh...it's me..." I heard myself mutter intelligently, my grating voice like fingernails on a chalkboard after his. I mentally slapped myself for daring to speak to this milk-colored carving of perfection.

My voice should have sent him running, but he merely grimaced. Like he was expecting as much, but he was still slightly surprised at my painful sounding drawl of gibber. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could manage and tried again, maybe to ease the humiliation or humiliate myself more, I hadn't decided. "Yes thats my name...Whats yours? Why are you sitting out here alone? Why aren't you inside for the funeral? You _are_ here for the funeral, right?...Sorry." Well, regardless of what I had intented, what I'd done was intensify the humiliation. My mouth closed with a snap, and the flood of heat to my cheeks felt excrutiating while my cheeks were raw and chapped from tears. I cringed and reached up to rub the dried salt from my face with the sleeve of my sweater.

The reminder of my grief brought an onslaught of guilt. Why was I gawking as some strange boy when I should be still crying about my dad? Didn't I love my dad? Was I that horrible of a person? I wished at that moment that an arrow would decend from the sky and deliberately peirce straight through my black little heart. I sobbed involuntarily at the mental critisism and burried my face in the sleeve of my oversized sweater. I listened to the quiet ruffle of his clothes as the boy beside me shifted closer. His fingers curled tentatively around a dangling fold of the big sweater I held up infront of my face. I was bewildered at the action, and I let my arm fall to my lap to reveal my shocked, questioning expression. His lips curled up only slightly and then dropped again. "I'm sorry too..." He uttered softly out into the breeze that blew gently against my face, filling my nose with a scent like happiness and sunshine, for lack of no better description. His apology sounded so depthful I thought,...as if thickly interlaced with double-meaning. I wondered half-heartedly what this gift from god could be sorry to me for. My mouth twitched again and I might've laughed but for the trance I seemed to be in. So he continued, without having been interupted after his loaded pause. "And my name is Edward. I _am_ here for the funeral but, I'd rather mourn without others seeing me...Infact, I'd rather no one know I was here at all..." The last was an implication, and I nodded a little too eagerly. I was only too happy to keep the vision before me all to myself for the time being. He sighed gratefully and forced the smallest of smiles onto his lips. "Bella," he continued, and I listened delightedly to the sound of him speak my name in his velvety tone. The direction of the gentle breeze changed then, and lone strands of my loosely styled hair wafted out infront of my face, reaching toward him in a graceful dance. I watched him as he drew back suddenly and gripped the back of the stone bench so quickly that I wasn't sure he'd had his hand infront of me a moment before. A loud crack reverberated through the bench and I slapped my hands outward onto the concrete to steady myself. I barily noticed when one of my hands landed atop one of his but for the change in texture from rough and flat to flower-petal soft and hand-shaped. I raised an inquiring brow as I registered that his hand and the cool stone bench were the same temperature. I shook that curiosity off for now and stored it for later as I looked around him for the source of the sound that had shook the whole courtyard. As I took in the sight in front of me my body froze with surprise. Where his hand had clutched at the back of the bench, the stone had crumbled into pebbles like crushed styrofoam. His whole body was tensed and his head was bowed with an expression of reverence. His fingers twitched slightly and pieces of the bench crashed to the muddy ground with heavy splats and thuds. Without pausing to think, I reached over to where he was gripping the bench and tested the stone with my fingertips, wondering if it was just really old concrete and it would crumble at my touch as with his. Beneath my probing fingers, the now jagged rock was steadfast and sturdy. Newly made benches like this one weren't normally so easily demolished under a young boy's feverishly strong grasp. I chanced a sideways glance at this mysterious Edward in question and found that he was glowering intensely right at me. I could feel the hurt and questioning flood into my expression and I watched his face relax into a perplexed scowl. "I-I'm sorry..." I stammered stupidly, not really sure what I was apologising for now, other than envoking his wrath. How on earth had he done that to the bench? My mind was so numb it refused to channel distress into my emotionally exhausted body. I couldn't calculate in my head how impossible the brittle crumbs of concrete in his hand were. Only seconds before they had been part of the larger construction of a concrete sitting place. The utter improbability of it clashed with my crippling grieving state, and my mind locked itself down, protesting at having to think through these kinds of things right now. On the outside I simply drew my hand back into my lap and slumped back into my leaning position against what was left of the back of the bench. His perplexed scowl immediately drained of hostility as he gathered my complete acceptance and passive non-chalonce at what had just happened. Now he was only totally confused as he stared at me, looking as though he was looking at a three-headed-snake.

Without another word he stood from his seated position and jogged lithely into the crest of trees just a few yards from where we sat. I stared after him with a confused expression, hardly able to convey the emotion correctly with a face as chapped and irritated as mine was at the moment. I started only slightly when the door behind where I sat flew wide open, and turned to face the disturbence to find my mother staring with a baffled look on her face at me. She stared from me to the bench I leaned back against and her eyes widened. "What _happened_? Did _you_ do this?" She chimed out in a high-pitched, tensed voice. I could tell she was still restraining her inner turmoil from causing her to go crazy in front of everyone, even now, in front of only me. Later on, maybe tonight, when she was alone, would she finally let herself feel her own pain. She was so selfless sometimes that I felt like maybe I didn't even really know her at all. My mouth bobbed open and the words spilled out before I really had a chance to think up a better responce. "I have _no_ clue mom, the bench just started falling apart. Whats this thing made of? It's a piece of crap, all I did was lean against it. I only weigh 110 for crying outloud." I shook my head and rolled my eyes in a mildly theatrical manner at her and rose to a wobbly stand, my hand still resting unsteadily on the cool stone beneath me.

She sighed exasperatedly and swept quickly across the distance between us to embrace me with one strong, steady arm around my back. She obviously didn't feel curious enough to question me further on the matter, so we hobbled together into the tiny, quaint little building ahead. I chanced a quick glance back toward the courtyard and let my eyes sweep hurriedly across the distance of it, then turned with a disappointed huff into the doorway of the building as we climbed through it together, joined in a loving and comforting embrace. Mom and daughter. We faced our friends again, steadfastedly entering the saddening atmosphere with our shoulders squared.


End file.
